Early Adolescence

Carmen Cuesta – Shape Of My Heart.

Near the end of 7th grade, when I was around 12 or 13, I asked my Grandmother to be homeschooled. Sharing my disregard for Academia, and burdened by shuttling me to and from school on a daily basis, she granted the request. My purpose for asking was simple: I wanted to play Asheron’s Call without interruption.

For the next 2 or 3 years, I spent most of my time playing that game. I still interacted regularly with my large group of friends, some of whom also played. I also went to the office which conducted the homeschooling, on a weekly basis; the studying was very simple, as my Grandmother, I, and my handler, all focused on getting me the simplest work-load possible.

Still, for years, I did little more than play Asheron’s Call; in my room with large windows facing the sun, atop the hill our home rested upon, nestled in the edge of the forest, overlooking the fields that stretched to the horizon. As with all MMO’s, AC required an internet connection. So, along with playing video games, I had unfettered access to unlimited music, shows, and porn; I indulged recklessly.

During this time, my mind was blooming. Unfortunately, my lifestyle did not forge a healthy mind: having no substantial responsibilities, and living in a virtual world devoid of life’s stresses, my mind became undisciplined. This was unnoticeable to my Grandmother, however, as outward signs did not show. But, inside, my mind was slowly becoming wild.

Early childhood gave me a potent degree of instinctive metacognative capacity; when added to my lifestyle of reckless and constant pursuit of entertainment, unique mental processes developed: my imagination ran rampant, beyond my control; I was primarily insentient at the time, so had no real awareness of what was occurring.

Essentially, I was semi-consciously making wild metacognitive alterations. A normal occurrence for a child that age, but my history, and then-current lifestyle, facilitated major changes: I was gaining far too much metacognitive influence, with too little understanding of what I was doing; I played with my mental-processes like toys. The damage I did was minor, but set the stage for serious problems, triggered by the next major component of my life.

I was 15 at the time. We found a way for me to graduate early, and become legally allowed to work fulltime; we did so simply because school was unnecessary for me. Shortly thereafter, my uncle-in-law’s job had a temporary opening for a groundskeeper. He got me the gig, and after 4 days of punishing labor, at 12 hours each, I was given a dollar raise and a permanent fulltime position.

Coincidentally, the day before starting the job, I was at a friend’s birthday party. At this party, I imbibed ludicrous amounts of marijuana. During those first 4 days on the job, I was still high from than night. By the third day, I was seriously worried that I had done permanent damage, and was terrified by the prospect that my mind wouldn’t return to normal.

Thankfully, I returned to normal. Unfortunately, I’d gained a taste for marijuana, lived in an area notorious for the ubiquity and potency of its marijuana, and now had allot of completely disposable income. I remained at that job for 8 months, and spent nearly all my money on marijuana; I smoked ridiculous amounts of already potent stuff. It ruined me.

The above link outlines the extremely damaging effects marijuana has on me. I smoked for those eight months, without quitting, because it was not initially damaging – it was very enjoyable. But, over time, it became detrimental. However, by that time, marijuana had become habitual, and a central part of my socializing – peer pressure.

So, rather than stop, I smoked more. I was also regularly drinking large amounts of alcohol at parties. The blatant and furious insanity that marijuana imparted, turned the previously minor metacognitive self-harm into serious harm; while writhing in the insanity that accompanied being high, I was self-altering blindly, wildly, and with force. I recall that period of my life with slight shock.

Stupid to continue smoking, obviously. But the more damage I did, the more I desired marijuana to alleviate the stress caused by smoking it; I was far less sentient in those days. I finally quit through an elaborate twist of fate involving the girl whom I started writing poetry for. We broke each other’s hearts, and to escape the heartache, I ran back to Alaska, to my mother. I only quit once in Alaska.

Oh, my mental issues started becoming apparent to my Grandmother. Part of my running to Alaska was avoiding the confrontation with her. She did what she could, but imagine trying to argue with me when I was an insentient pup.

Enough for now. I may temporarily skip past the important story of my first love, and devotion to poetry, in my next installment.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on October 15, 2016.

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